


beautiful

by thewalrus_said



Category: Spinning Silver - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: I gave my husband a grace period of four months. At first I thought I would give him six months, but there wasn’t time. People were already beginning to give my flat stomach sympathetic or worried glances, and there was a definite smugness in the looks of some others. I - we - needed an heir, and soon.





	beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coslyons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coslyons/gifts).



> Hi coslyons! I hope you like it!

I gave my husband a grace period of four months. At first I thought I would give him six months, but there wasn’t time. People were already beginning to give my flat stomach sympathetic or worried glances, and there was a definite smugness in the looks of some others. I - we - needed an heir, and soon.

The trouble was, he was still inclined to be overly fawning, and it grated on my nerves enough to make me almost consider giving him a full year to get over it. It had begun after the death of Chernobog, and I could only assume it stemmed from gratitude. There really wasn’t time to see if it would pass on its own, however, so at four months, I consulted my calendar and requested a private audience with my husband after dinner, which he readily granted.

“What can I do for you, my tsarina?” Mirnatius asked, when dinner was done and he met me in my private chambers.

“I will be blunt,” I said. “We need an heir.”

He blinked. “Oh. I see.” There was somewhat of an awkward pause, and then he went on, “Yes, I understand.” He reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Not now!” I all but cried, stopping him in his tracks. “Two days from now is the most auspicious day, according to my calendar.”

He let go the fabric. “I see. Then why did you ask to meet today?”

Now it was my turn to blink and be awkward. “I thought you might appreciate a warning before, well.”

“Before you put me to stud?” He laughed. “Your forethought is admirable, my tsarina, but I assure you there will be no difficulties. You are too beautiful for that.”

I was embarrassed, and it made me sharp. “Enough,” I snapped. His eyebrows raised. “Enough of this empty flattery, if you please. We must do this, and I would have it be done as honestly as possible. I don’t want to feel like some sort of idol on a pedestal.”

He frowned. “And you think my flattery empty, do you? Is it so impossible that I should find you beautiful?”

“You did not find me beautiful when we married,” I said. “I have not changed since then.”

He took a step toward me. “Everything has changed since then,” he said, disappointingly earnest. “You saved my life.”

“Only incidentally,” I replied. “I would have killed you, had it been necessary.”

He leaned back and regarded me. “All the same,” he said, after a few moments’ scrutiny. “I will feel how I choose to feel. I will endeavour to let it be less obnoxious to you.”

I could not help myself; I rolled my eyes. Thankfully, he was already halfway out of my chambers and could not see it.

I barely saw my husband over the next two days; there was a hunt scheduled, and where before he had gone out of his way to cross my path with his fleeting moments of downtime, now he seemed to be taking pains to avoid me. This suited me well; I was out of sorts after our audience and had no desire to repeat the experience.

Whatever his emotions, Mirnatius presented himself at my chambers two hours after dinner. I had taken the liberty of undressing and changing into my nightgown, and his eyes darkened when I let him in.

We stood in silence for a few minutes, each assessing the other. He was lightly dressed himself, in a loose shirt and breeches. Unlike myself, his looks had changed since Chernobog was destroyed. He was less painfully beautiful, though his fundamental features remained unaltered. He looked like a mere mortal, rather than a god; still attractive, but comprehensibly so.

Finally, he spoke. “May I see you bare?” he asked, quiet in the stillness of the room. I gave the matter due consideration. I knew what I looked like, and after a brief search of my soul, I decided that no reaction he could have would unduly hurt me; nor, indeed, did I think he would actively choose to be cruel. It was a request I could safely grant.

I reached up and undid the tie at my shoulder, letting my nightgown slip down to pool at my feet. He cast his eyes over me, and there was a hint of the old appraisal there, assessing what scraps of beauty could be found within me. The coolness was oddly comforting, as I stood bare before my husband; it was a piece of him I could recognize from before Chernobog left, a shred of proof that this was not a total stranger before me.

A few seconds’ viewing seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded to himself. He pulled his shirt off over his head and went to work on his trousers, shucking them a moment later. Then he was as bare before me as I was before him.  _ What now, _ I almost asked, but then he stepped forward and put a hand to my bare shoulder.

It was almost certainly meant as a directive, perhaps to push me back toward the bed, but the contact of it shocked us both into stillness. He stared at his fingers where they brushed my flesh, and I stared at his face as he looked. Slowly, he began to move, slipping his fingers down to pass along the upper curve of my breast. It was nothing, barely a touch, but it made my breath catch, the way his hand on my thigh had, months ago.

He noticed, and I could see him take stock of the situation. Carefully, he swept his hand back and moved down, until his hand was fully cupping my breast. My breath hitched again, and that unfamiliar yet familiar warmth was growing between my legs. He stayed there for a few seconds, and then began to trail his fingers down my stomach, as though he could feel the warmth too, and delved a fingertip into the source.

_ That _ felt good. I gasped, and the spell was broken. Using his other hand, he successfully steered me to the bed and sat me down, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Lean back,” he said, still pressing on my shoulder. “I want to see.”

I wasn’t sure what there was to see, to be honest, but his finger was still in place and it still felt good, so I obliged him and lay back, spreading my legs at his urging. He stroked a finger down the length of me and I shuddered, and then without warning he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to me in a smacking kiss. A sound punched out of me that I was not sure I could replicate under any other circumstance, and he pulled away. “I thought so,” I heard him mutter.

I reached out and pushed his head back toward me. “Do that again,” I commanded with as much of the air of the tsarina as I could muster, which was not much. He took my point well enough, though, and fastened his mouth into place again.

There came a point where I couldn’t shudder anymore, and once the pressings of his tongue started to hurt I pushed him away. He knelt back, and even backlit by the lamps as he was, I could tell he was immensely pleased with himself. I thought about telling him to stop smirking, but even in my addled state I knew it would be of no use. Instead I shifted to the side as he crawled up to sit on the bed next to me.

Now it was my turn, to shove gently at his shoulder until he lay down, to trace my fingers over the expanse of his body. A part of me had feared his skin would still have the heat of Chernobog, but it was pleasantly cool to the touch. In the absence of any other ideas I mirrored his touches, tracing my fingernail around his nipple until he hissed. It made me chuckle, and then I turned my attention to his member.

It was smaller than I had feared, even erect; I could quite easily wrap my hand around it with room to spare. He whimpered, which was immensely gratifying after my yelp earlier. Moisture was leaking from the tip, and between that and the dampness still slicking my thighs, I foresaw no real problems with the act itself. “Shall we?” I asked. He nodded, but made no move to get above me. After a few moments of stillness on both our parts, I took the hint and straddled him.

There was an awkward bit of maneuvering, made more complicated by the fact that I could not see what I was doing and he had to take over from his lower angle, but eventually he was safely inside me and I was inching down. This was a less acute pleasure than his mouth on me, but it felt far from bad, aside from the burn in my thighs. His face was thrown back, the parts of it I could see flushed red, and his hands clenched the sheets.

I tensed my thighs and began to slide back up, and his hips bucked up to follow me. Matters progressed more quickly than I had anticipated; barely a minute had passed since I mounted him before he gripped my hip and pushed one last time into me with a cry. He fell limp to the bed after, and I carefully slipped off and lay down beside him.

He didn’t seem inclined to speak, and I was happy to oblige him with silence. My thighs ached from their exertion and I was beginning to feel unpleasantly sticky, but just as I had resolved to get up and go in search of some water to wash, I felt his hand brush the back of my own. Slowly, as slowly as they had moved across my body before, his fingers interlocked themselves with mine. I stayed where I was.


End file.
